Photography
by Dailenna
Summary: Royai, AU A bunch of oneshots about life working within the office of the MSA Magazine. Mostly Roy and Riza centric.
1. Smart and Sassy

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, and I don't own MSA. I don't know whether or not there is an MSA Magazine, but if there is, I don't own that either.

**Notes:** This is a series of oneshots about photography. They'll all be set in the same AU, and although there won't be an interconnecting storyline, each oneshot is in chronological order, and may refer to past events.

"**Photography**" by **Dailenna**

**Snapshot One:** **Smart and Sassy don't mix well for Roy Mustang**

On any normal day at work, a bright flash of light capturing the other occupants of the room in their various poses would signal the entrance of one Mr. Maes Hughes – it was his mode to begin with a candid picture, just in case that was good enough to make the magazine. Monday the twentieth of March, 2006, was no different in its beginning, other than that as Maes walked in – and blinded the men already in the room with the camera hanging around his neck – so did a petite blonde woman, clutching an identical camera in her hands.

After his eyes had lost the black dots swimming in front of them, Roy Mustang finally noticed her presence. She hadn't said a word yet, but hung back, listening to whatever it was that Maes was saying in her direction. Some sort of instruction, evidently, as she nodded and moved off to the cupboard where Maes kept his tripods and spare cameras.

The studio of the professional photographer was a mess – a white screen hung up as a background behind the models, and nothing stood between that screen and the position that the camera normally occupied, but the rest of the room was in a shambles – props, make-up, costumes, the latest trends in fashion and mechanical things that Roy didn't understand were scattered all around the place.

Yet somehow, the blonde managed to find the particular tripod that Maes had asked for, because in a moment it was set up with the camera atop it.

Roy stepped forwards, slightly confused. "Maes, who's this?"

Looking up from the tripod he was correcting slightly for angle, Maes asked him to repeat the question. When Roy did so, Maes glanced over at the woman by him and back at Roy. "Oh, this is Riza. She's our new photographer."

The woman leant over to shake Roy's hand, a placid smile on her face. "Nice to meet you," she said.

"I'm Roy–" he started before she interrupted.

"Roy Mustang. I've seen your previous work in MSA Magazine, and I was at the November show in Milan. You're the fashion industry's favourite newcomer, you know?"

Stunned, Roy stared, nonplussed for a moment before mumbling back a quick thanks. It seemed that she knew enough about him already, and he'd only been in the modelling business for a year or so. He felt out of place; she knew about him, and he didn't know anything about her other than her name, physical appearance and that she was a photographer.

"Right, folks, are we all ready?" Maes called.

Jean, the other model for the day, Kain and Heymans, the technicians, Vato and Denny, the article writers, Maria, the make-up artist, and Schieszka, Maes' gofer, all gave their assent and the day started with Maes and Riza taking turns at controlling the photo shoots. While in the first few rounds, Maes would lean over and give her a pointer or two, it seemed that she caught on fairly quickly because soon enough Maes went out for a lunch break while she kept shooting away.

* * *

The group worked together for a week on three different designers' products and labels, and by the weekend Riza had settled into the group easily. She seemed more of a listener than a talker, to Roy, but that wasn't to say that she didn't speak at all. She'd smile along with a conversation during breaks and add in her own semi-sarcastic comments (sometimes Roy wasn't sure if she was being serious or if she was just very good at being able to keep a straight face) but when it came to business, she required no nonsense. 

Maes had stood back and watched in amusement as she ordered around the men in front of the camera, and laughed when she told Roy off for scowling at her once. What a great friend _he_ was.

But despite all of that, when the crew went out for drinks on Friday night, she got an invite – she was now part of the crew as well, after all.

Unlike all of the others, when Roy stumbled out that evening – drunk on low-carbohydrate drinks, of course – he didn't think the events of that evening were half as funny as they all made out. In fact, the reason he was drunk was his attempt to forget what had happened.

It just so happened that over the last week, Riza hadn't escaped Roy's attentions – of course not, she had been yelling instructions at him from behind that tortuous bringer of temporary blindness the whole time – and after finishing his second drink, Roy had casually sauntered up to her with a cool smile.

She had smiled back at him, but hadn't spoken a word, instead waiting for him to bring up the matter on his mind – she had been waiting for him to embarrass himself, he now realised. How she could stand around looking so innocent while covering up such a vile interior was beyond him. How she could just–!

But now we're getting ahead of ourselves. Let's go and see what the conversation was that left Roy stumbling out so bitterly.

The smoky bar was filled with amiably chatting people, amongst them the fashion section of MSA Magazine. The group had discussed the current political situation with surprising vehemence for sometime before Kain led the conversation over to animal shelters, and Roy was just returning from getting some more drinks when he noticed that Riza stepped aside to make a phone call.

A few minutes later when she rejoined the group, Roy picked up a new beer – again, low-carbohydrate – and stepped over so that he was standing by her side. She gave him a casual glance, and he smiled as charmingly as he could manage.

"I know that you've been wondering all week," he informed her, "so I thought I might just cut to the chase – do you want to have dinner on Saturday night?"

The change in her expression was only subtle – the slight raising of an eyebrow – but somehow it seemed that the focus of the entire table had suddenly centred on the two of them. Roy's smile didn't slip so much as a millimetre. Finally, the words that escaped her mouth managed to form themselves into one of the least fathomable answers he had heard.

"Mmm, I'm sorry," she said with a shake of the head. "I don't go out with guys who can't think for themselves–"

Roy's blank stare was rewarded with a "that's you, Roy," from Heymans, and he nodded dully. He supposed that that was true. It must have been if Heymans said so, anyway.

"–or who wear more make-up than I do–"

Now that he thought of it, all the make-up she was wearing was a little bit of lip-gloss. No, wait – now that he looked closer, it wasn't even that: it was lip-_balm_. He was still wearing foundation and a teensy bit of eyeliner from the day's work.

"–or who are prettier than I am."

Well, she was pretty, but he wasn't going to deny that one.

"So in summing up, I don't go out with models, and I won't go out with you." The pleasant smile on her face was somewhat patronising, although Roy didn't notice that as much as the fact that he had just been turned down by a woman. _Him_, the hottest thing this side of a Western Australian summer. His ego wasn't aided much by the explosion of laughter from the table.

Somewhat put out, he moved away a little and for the rest of the night he could be found sulking, and attempting to drown the memory of his rejection in his beer bottle. The main resolution that came from that attempt was that he wouldn't try to ask out a woman in front of a crowd again.

Thus ended Roy Mustang's first week of working with Riza Hawkeye.


	2. A Splash, a Flash, and a Squeal

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, and I don't own MSA. I don't know whether or not there is an MSA Magazine, but if there is, I don't own that either.

**Notes:** Ana is not based on anyone or anything. None of the female models I may have to mention will be, and none of them will be repeated unless I write a two-shot, in which case they will be over once that particular plot is finished. They're merely there to fill a need, and aren't going to be developed much as actual characters.

**Snapshot Two: A Splash, a Flash, and a Squeal**

Giving the camera lens a scowl, Riza handed the instrument to Kain and trudged over to the equipment box to get a new one. Whoever's idea it was to put their fingers all over the lens and smudge greasy fingerprints on it, she didn't know, but she had a good idea of who the culprit was.

One chirpy child with dirty blond tufts of hair jammed into ponytails on either side of her head whirled past, giggling.

It wasn't that Riza didn't like Maes' daughter – in fact, she adored the girl, most of the time – but by no means was Elysia the picture of perfection Maes painted her to be. Out of ignorance, rather than malice, Elysia had managed in only a few hours to disrupt photo shoots of both Roy and Jean, to accidentally cause a jam in the printer, to get tomato sauce over three pieces of _designer clothing_, and now to put out of order one of the three cameras they had brought with them to the shoot location. At least until Kain managed to polish it properly, that was, but considering how finicky Riza could get – and she could just feel that this was going to be one of those days – that would take quite a while.

The only good that had come of it was a particularly gorgeous photo Maes had snapped of Roy and Elysia together when Riza got distracted by the fact that a small girl had suddenly jumped into her shoot. If Elysia had been wearing designer clothing, it would have gone into the magazine, but as it was, she had a sauce stain down her front and scuffs on her shoes, so instead Maes was brandishing it like a weapon whenever he took a break from clicking away at his own camera.

"Alright, Jean, Ana, we're ready to go," she said when she had checked to make sure that this camera was clean.

The lanky model looked up and quickly put out his cigarette before wandering over to stand in front of the fountain. If it wasn't for the fact that quitting smoking would have given Jean a few too many kilos to continue modelling, Riza would have demanded he stopped – it was distracting, and unhealthy, besides.

Ana was new to the group – one of the various girls who flitted in and out of the modelling pictures of MSA Magazine. While Roy and Jean were the two permanent models for the magazine, they could hardly be shown wearing mini-skirts, no matter what the fan-mail suggested – and, to Riza's horror, she had come across four such suggestions in only her first month – so new, female models were brought in every month or two so that the name of the magazine didn't become a big lie.

Today they were taking photos in a park. Giving a nice, natural feel to the pictures, Maes had said. There was a beautiful fountain in the middle of the walkway, and being an opportunist, Riza was making sure that she got a few photos with Jean and Ana surrounded by the arches of water. They had obtained the council's permission to drain out the fountain and scrub the fungus and moss off the bottom of it before refilling it, so that the models didn't slip or get some nasty foot infection from the dirty water during the shoot.

The two quickly took off their jackets before stepping into the shin-high water.

"I'd like to get some action shots, as well as one or two particular poses," Riza told them quickly, before they started getting too cold – it seemed like a slight breeze was starting up. "If you just play around a little bit, I'll see what I can get out of that, but first I want Jean to give Ana a splash – just swipe at the water. Nothing huge, just playful. Look like you're having fun."

"How wet are we allowed to get?" Jean asked lazily.

"By the end I'll want you positively soaked. This first shot has to be while you're still relatively dry, though," she answered, setting up her camera.

The two waded out a few metres into the fountain until the streams of water pouring from the statues' mouths just missed spraying back up at them. The water didn't get any deeper, so their clothes were still completely dry – Ana's miniskirt perched jauntily on her thin hips, and Jean's board-shorts only came to his knees.

"Here?"

"Yep, that's good."

A splash, a flash, and a squeal, then Riza gave a nod for the two to continue doing their own thing. She had requested specifically to have Jean to do this shoot. While Roy was good at charming the girls and getting some romantic images, Jean was a lot better for making the them feel comfortable just hanging around, and Riza was able to get some good friendly shots of the two mucking about.

Now she thought of it, Jean was like a seasoned pro at introductions. He had met enough new models that he knew how to handle them and make them feel welcomed. Even now he was telling the odd joke or two to get Ana to laugh. While Riza had heard the jokes over and again – the same ones he used to make all the girls smile – it got the job done, so she didn't mind so much.

When Ana spontaneously launched herself into Jean's arms, Riza laughed at the look on his face and thanked her lucky stars that she had opened the shutter just at the right time. Maybe despite Elysia's mishaps, this wouldn't turn out to be such a bad day.

"Okay, that's enough for now," Riza finally announced. "Ana, go change into the swimmers you were given, Jean, swap board-shorts for the other pair, and be back here in ten minutes. Grab something to eat or drink while you wait."

It was a good shoot, all up. While she'd taken at least twenty-five pictures, Riza suspected that six of them were potentially good enough to be put into the magazine. Too much water flying around in the others, and a bit too much of the same thing over and again. Six was still more than they needed from just Jean and Ana, though, so she was happy with that. She just wanted to get a few more in the other set of clothes, and then they'd be done for the day.

While she was waiting, she grabbed a banana and a cup of coffee from the afternoon tea table. It was an unusual mix of flavours, but she didn't care. A little bit of food and a warm drink were all she needed right now.

"Riiiizaaa?"

She turned around to face the four-year-old. "Hey, Elysia. What have you been up to?" Now that she'd had time to calm down, the smile on her face was more serene than the forced smile she'd worn last time she spoke to the girl.

"My fingers are cold," Elysia said, displaying her hands at full arms-length. To Riza's surprise, they were clean, for the first time since lunch and the clothes-rack incident. "Can I hold your cup to get warm?"

With full faith that the mug would be dropped or spilled within the first ten seconds of Elysia's possession, Riza set the cup down on a table. "As long as you keep it on the table," she said, peeling her banana and watching Elysia's eager grip on the cup with a steady eye.

By the time the girl was giggling about the way her hands felt "all nice and tingly," Riza had finished eating, and dropped the peel into a bin. She took the cup from Elysia to have a few gulps before handing it back. In a minute, Elysia had become bored and wandered off, and Riza finished the rest of her coffee.

The short amount of time that they had paused for was long enough that the sun had now decided to head for the horizon. It was getting darker, but a pink streak had appeared across the sky, and Riza was eyeing it appreciatively. If they got a few pictures quickly before the shadows got too long, the sky might just become an asset in some of her later photos.

Jean was lazing by the fountain already, wrapped in his jacket before he had to get back into the water. He held a new cigarette between his fingers, and Riza gave it a glance and decided she'd wait a little further off until Ana got back.

It wasn't long before the models were in the water again, splashing about like they had been earlier. Riza managed to capture a cute shot of Ana hugging Jean from behind – oh yes, this one liked physical contact, that was for sure – among some others, and by the time that the sun had projected a great red and pink mass across the sky, Riza was almost ready to finish up.

"One last one," she called out. That of course meant that there would be only one more shot. Unless they screwed it up - then they'd have to do it again. And again, and again, and again, until it was absolutely perfect. "Come just this side of the fountain, and I want you to stand really close. Hold each other's hands. No, down by your sides, just hanging. Yes, that's it. And lean in like you're about to kiss."

Riza quickly altered the level of flash her camera would let out so that the image wouldn't be completely lit up. This one needed a bit of shade to it to complete the effect she had in mind.

Unconsciously, she took a step closer to the makeshift pond, until her shins were almost touching the barrier stopped the water from flowing out. The water splashed about noisily as she brought her camera up to frame the couple. The light flashed and the camera stole the moment quickly, just before a guffawing mass hurtled into Riza's back.

She toppled forwards with an inelegant squeal.

Had she not been holding a camera in her right hand, it would have been quite possible that Riza could have used both hands to stop herself falling as far as she did into the pool. Unfortunately, one hand was occupied with said piece of equipment, and in an attempt to keep the not-so-waterproof camera from getting wet and destroying her day's work, she thrust the hand holding the camera up into the air and tried to fend off the water with only her left hand. Needless to say, her arm buckled beneath her, and Riza found herself quite awkwardly half in, and half out of the fountain, face down in the – luckily – recently changed water.

By the time she had managed to haul herself out, coughing and spitting, Jean and Ana had made their way over, and Heymans – holding the football he had managed to catch the very second before he stumbled into her – was apologising profusely.

Her glare did nothing to silence the bulky man, and soon Roy and Maes arrived, having jogged over from the other side of the park, from the spot where one of them had booted the football.

"I'm _fine_," she growled to their queries, and stormed over to the equipment box, to put her camera down before she dripped on it. It was an odd feeling, walking with three quarters of her body drenched – head to knee, bar the one dry arm. When she'd set the camera in its box, she moved away to squeeze the water out of her hair, and noticed the ache in her wrist from the jarring impact. With a groan, she realised the sting on her forehead and cheek were too sharp to just be a bruise.

Maes arrived with a towel, which she mumbled a thanks to, and wrapped around her shoulders.

"Is my face bleeding?"

The wince she got in reply wasn't very promising.

"We'll get you cleaned up as best as we can before it's time to go," Maes said, his eyes continually flickering to the side of her face. "I've finished up on my section, and I think it's safe to say that you're done for the day, so we just need to wait for Kain and Heymans to pack up before we can leave. I–" he cut of mid-sentence, eyes drawn again to the side of her face. Her head was throbbing now. "Are you alright to get home yourself with that? Maybe it's best if someone else drove you home."

Heymans jogged over with a wad of serviettes. "I tried to find an icepack, but we don't have any ice, let alone a . . . pack." Now he was staring at her face, too. Great – something had to be seriously wrong, then.

Snatching at the serviettes, Riza dabbed them gently against her face, wincing at the sting. They came away wet and bloody. The water dripping from her hair had diluted the blood just enough to make it runny. She hadn't noticed how much there was, because of the water being there as well.

The grimaces on the guys' faces didn't speak very well of the accident, either. Especially not when Maes decided to open his mouth again. "It might be a good idea if you get someone to look at that. You might need a stitch or two."

Still dabbing at her forehead, and now her cheek as well, Riza groaned. All she could think was that it was a good thing her job was behind the camera, and not in front of it.

* * *

One weekend and five stitches later – three just above her eyebrow and two along her cheekbone – Riza came back to work somewhat happier than she had left. She walked into the studio and made her way straight over to where Kain sat at his computer. He looked over at her and grinned, beckoning for her to look over his shoulder. 

"Might have been some trouble getting it, but I think that this is one hell of a picture," he said, admiring the image.

Two figures stood close together, fingers entwined and mouths only inches apart, the illumination just light enough that they appeared as richly shaded silhouettes before a frozen fountain of water. The brilliant red sky topped the mural behind the fountain, casting a rich glow over the subjects of the photograph.

Riza nodded contentedly. "It's good," she murmured, gazing at the image on Kain's computer screen. "Very good."

Just good enough that it might have been worth the trouble it had taken: all five stitches, a sprained wrist, two aching shins from being knocked into the small barrier, a ruined shirt (bloodied by a soaked path down from the collar), and being driven to the hospital and then home by a worried employer and his cheerfully talkative daughter.

It might have been worth the trouble. Later, when she couldn't remember the headache the drive home had caused, anyway.


	3. The Age of Mythology Returns

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, or MSA. I don't know whether there's an MSA Magazine or not, but if there is, then I don't own that either.

**Notes:** To the readers of "**Theme and Variations**", thank you for being so patient with me. I'm having issues getting past a certain point, but I'm still trying to write bit-by-bit on it. That means that it is moving, just only about one hundred words at a time. As soon as it gets to a decent length I'll post the next chapter, I promise. Thank you for waiting.

**Snapshot Three: The Age of Mythology Returns**

The buzz around the room spoke all about efficiency and work. Snatches of overheard conversation amounted to deadlines and designers; a computer keyboard was being tapped away at noisily; footsteps clicked past, returning to work stations. Ahh yes, it was indeed that time of year. That time when all around the office, work induced stress ran rampant. When people only had time to talk in passing. When the only one not working overtime was the air-conditioner.

And that time was Valentine's.

Not the day itself, of course, but rather the two weeks preceding. You see, some foolhardy publisher had decided that while the new magazines were published monthly, and seasonal mini-mags were published the week before their corresponding day, Valentine's Day was above a mini-magazine. No, it deserved a full edition of its own, to appeal to all of the love-struck teenagers and adults out there.

Maes himself was all for Valentine's Day – in fact, last year he and his wife had had a fantastic weekend alone together, while the in-laws took care of their granddaughter. It was the two weeks leading up to it that he hated.

The time in between the publication of the February magazine and the special Valentine's Day edition was _not_ nearly enough time to get a whole month's work done. Although Maes was only in charge of the fashion section, he had the stress of making sure that everyone under his command had their work done, and that didn't make him into a very happy boss. The one thing that he was pleased about was the fact that while some of the other parts of the magazine were getting stale (there are only so many times you can re-word '10 Great Valentine's Gifts to Give' before it begins to get repetitive), the fashions were always new.

And when the fashions didn't seem so new, there was always one other option.

"Jean, stop pointing that bow at people. No matter how hard the arrow is glued on, we don't want to take any chances. Roy, put your halo back on – we're about to start shooting."

So maybe Cupid wasn't exactly five-foot-nine, or six-foot-three, but Maes was sure that their readers wouldn't mind so much. Especially since one of the requirements of Cupid was that he – or they, as the case may be – was never seen with a shirt on.

Maes had ingeniously decided that this year, the Valentine's Day issue would be used to model some of the new pants they had been sent. Jeans, slacks, cargo shorts; what did it matter, if it got magazines sold? So both Jean – the model, that was, not the style of clothing – and Roy had a rack of pants they needed to show off, and otherwise all they had to cover themselves with was a halo, a bow with an attached arrow – which they were _not_ going to fire – and a set of wings. A flash of inspiration had led Maes to determine that while the majority of the images would have a fluffy little cherubic wing-set, the masterpiece photo would have Roy sitting in the centre of the image with a long, swooping pair of feathered angel's wings attached to his back.

Yes, today was planned from top to bottom, outside to in. Nothing could spoil his mood – he had it all thought out, and was ready to go. This year he seemed to actually have everything on time, rather than the fiasco of last year, when he had still been trying to come up with an original idea three days before the magazine was supposed to be published. This year he'd taken the easy way out.

"It would be nice if we could have used something other than Cupid," Maes absently remarked to Riza in the short lull they shared before they started shooting. It wasn't a lull as such for the others – frantically making sure that Jean and Roy were dressed, made-up, and presentable, and that all of the technical equipment was working – but it gave the photographers time to compose themselves, at least. "Then we could have saved this as a back-up plan for later."

Riza laughed. "I think it's the back-up plan most magazines use, except in their cases it's for the February issue, not an issue designed specifically for one day of the month," she added bitterly. She wasn't too pleased with finding out that they had to prepare two magazines for the one month, either. "It'd be nice if we could do something different, but we can't exactly dress them up as Eros and some male version of Aphrodite." She took a sip of her coffee.

"What!?"

Her eyes turned to Maes slowly. "Pardon?"

He was struck with agony. It was almost painful hearing this just now, five minutes before they were scheduled to start shooting. A whole new concept to explore, and he'd been given such little time to go through it! "Why couldn't you mention that earlier? Eros, and a male version of Aphrodite . . ."

"Wait a minute!" Riza said warily. "I said we _can't_ do that. Don't you realise the sorts of suggestions we'd get pouring in if we started posting images of the gods of _erotic_ love?"

Waving a hand in her direction, Maes shushed her. "Oh please, Cupid is exactly the same. It's just that people assume that because he's usually portrayed as a child, he's innocent. Pfft – like any fat kid with a bow and arrow who goes around shooting people is innocent."

So maybe they couldn't exactly make the change at this point in time, but with a smirk, Maes realised that he already had the plans for next year's edition formulating in his mind. This year they could portray the general idea of Valentine's Day, and next year they could go a little further. A step out into the unexplored territory, since it might be a problem figuring out how to make it obvious that one of the models was supposed to be a male version of Aphrodite. Or how to point out that the other was Eros.

While he still had time, Maes dove for a pen and paper. He had to write these concepts down before he had forgotten about them, or the year would completely distract him and he'd be back where he started, but without his Cupid back-up plan.

"S-s-so you're actually thinking about using that?" Riza spluttered. "The only ways of making it obvious who the models are meant to be aren't the sort of thing that we can publish!"

Maes waved her off again. "Oh please, we can turn 'The Birth of Venus' into a shampoo ad, or something. There's pointing out that the model is meant to be Aphrodite."

"B-but-! Nudity? And how are you going to portray Eros? It isn't as though he's in any famous paintings!"

"Ehh, he might be," Maes said, scratching his chin absentmindedly as he thought. "Those just wouldn't be suitable for children's eyes, methinks." Was there any painting or famous text that mentioned the god that made it easier to point out who he was? Maybe they could just get a picture with certain implications, but that didn't actually follow through. "Oh and to solve the Birth of Venus nudity issue – we just need to place the image of the product in the right place."

Now his brain was working, Maes was absolutely thrilled. He had ideas of a few of the shots they'd need already, and he hastily scribbled them down before Roy and Jean were finally assembled, wings and all.

* * *

The shoot was somewhat distracting, since his mind was working a year ahead of time. Maes was yearning to get these other pictures taken, but it just wasn't for now. If it hadn't been for the fact that he'd have to use the then-current fashions, Maes would have gotten everything together and had the images taken in the next week, but no, he'd have to wait for two seasons worth of clothing to pass, first. What a disappointment! 

When the pictures were taken and handed over to the tech group, Maes was content with the day's work. Despite his mind being somewhere else, he had still managed to get his masterpiece shot, and at least one or two other good ones – he had high standards – and he was finished for the day.

"Alright, people," he announced when done. "Riza and I have already decided what's happening next Valentine's Day issue." At this point, Riza turned away and started packing up, not wanting to be associated with the idea. "Next year, Cupid is out, and Aphrodite and Eros are in. We're taking the gods of erotic love and turning them PG for our readers. Thanks for your work today, and I'll see most of you some time in the following week."

Maes smirked briefly at the looks on everyone's faces. Despite the regrets Riza had voiced upon the matter, it seemed that everyone else seemed somewhat interested. The reactions had ranged from the surprise on Kain's face to a very wide grin on Jean's.

To Maes' annoyance, upon leaving only ten minutes later, as he walked straight past Roy and Riza he heard her saying "If we can come up with something else before next January, maybe he'll rethink the whole idea. Erotic gods – pfft."

Not a beat later, _however_, to Maes' amusement, he also overheard the reply she received.

"I'll be _your_ erotic god."

The resounding slap that followed only served to make him laugh harder. Yes, Roy was going to have to be Eros, after all.


	4. Duck Heads

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, and I don't own MSA. I don't know whether or not there is an MSA Magazine, but if there is, I don't own that either.

**Snapshot Four: Duck Heads**

So he had tried and failed spectacularly the first time. So he made a complete idiot of himself in front of all the others. So everyone in the office had laughed at him. So _what!?_ Roy might just have asked Riza out before, and received such a reply that he would have preferred to get hit by a bolt of lightning – so long as it didn't ruin his hair – but that didn't mean that he would give up. Roy Mustang was _not_ the sort of man to duck his head in defeat. They had been working together for a year now, and Roy knew that it was the perfect time to rise up and strike again!

The original attempt had left him in a sulk for days at a time, but he had pulled out of it eventually. Since then he had taken the opportunity to see what her kind of guy _was_, rather than just knowing what he wasn't, and the easiest way to determine that was to work with what she had told him.

Point number one: _Riza doesn't date guys who can't think for themselves._

* * *

"Okay, sir, what sauce would you like on your salad sandwich?" the sniffly boy at the counter asked. His bored expression wasn't even directed at Roy. Instead his eyes stared through the lettuces and cucumbers as though they weren't even there. 

"None," Roy replied automatically. The sauce was extra calories that he didn't need – he'd been told that his slim hips were one of his greatest assets, after all.

Just as the boy started to put the top slice of bread on, Roy stepped forward hurriedly to prevent him. If Riza liked guys who thought for themselves, then he'd have to stop listening to the opinions of others. He _would_ get some sauce. "Wait, I'd like mayonnaise . . . No – thousand island dressing . . . No – ranch dressing . . . No – seafood sauce–"

The kid fixed him with a blank stare as Roy went through all of the sauces available, unable to make his decision as to which he'd have in his first act of rebellion. When Roy's indecisiveness came to a silence, the boy said "How about I just put some salad dressing on it, for you?"

Roy almost fainted with relief. Yes, that did sound good. "That'll do," he said with a nod, watching as the boy drizzled a goodly dollop of the dressing onto the salad before replacing the bread lid and wrapping it up in paper. After paying, he made his way over to the seats Maes had been saving in the corner of the sandwich shop.

"What are you grinning about?" Maes asked good-naturedly as he came over. "Did you manage to get another girl's number?"

"No," Roy told him happily. "I've been thinking for myself, for once. Making my own decisions."

Maes took a bite out of his own sandwich – he had gotten out of the office a little earlier than Roy, because he didn't have to change the clothes he was wearing – and nodded along amusedly. "Really? Like what?"

Roy leant forwards proudly. "Like having dressing on my sandwich." There was a short pause as Roy unwrapped his sandwich, and Maes eyed him warily.

"Not afraid it'll go straight to your hips, Roy?"

"Not if I don't have it all that often," Roy admitted. If he kept it up, there'd be something to worry about, but once or twice a month would be nice for a change. He took a bite out of the sandwich.

"Fair enough," Maes said, relaxing back into his seat. If Roy did it enough to gain weight, there might be a problem with the modelling, and if there was a problem with modelling, Maes would be having issues not only at work, but also in his private life, trying to console Roy when his career took a turn for the worse. He'd just have to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't go overboard. "So what dressing do you have?"

"Just salad dressing," Roy said between mouthfuls. "I couldn't figure out what I wanted, so the sandwich guy said he could just put this on." Another silence, while Roy blissfully ate the first food with flavouring he'd had in quite some time.

"Roy . . . Wasn't the point of this to think for yourself?"

He looked up, confused. "Yes."

"You didn't think for yourself, Roy, you just chose a _different_ person do the thinking for you than whoever you normally listen to," Maes revealed with a sigh.

Roy blinked, and his jaws stopped chewing, still slightly confused as his mind processed this new idea. He used his thumb to wipe a few crumbs from his cheek. "Oh, okay."

Well, maybe he'd have to work on that another way, then. If it wasn't going to work now, at least he could keep on trying, and hopefully he'd get there some day. Was he really as bad as Riza said he was? Something in the back of his mind said he could be better, and he chose to listen to that little voice. So what was the next thing he had needed to work on?

Point number two: _Riza doesn't date guys who wear more make-up than she does._

* * *

Roy sat in the chair at the make-up application table, Maria hovering over him with her brush to reapply for him. She leant in to begin the process, and with a flash of realisation, Roy called out. 

"Stop!"

Confused, Maria pulled back. "Is everything okay?"

"I can't have make-up on," Roy explained desperately. "It makes me seem like a pansy." To punctuate this idea, he promptly stuck out his lower lip in a pout.

That _was_ why Riza didn't like guys wearing make-up, right? Maybe she liked guys who were big and tough. Well, that was one thing Roy had going for him – he had a good body. Even if he had a few eccentricities (which were entirely redeemable – he _could _change himself) he was still genuinely masculine, and thank heavens for that.

Maria looked at him levelly. "Make-up makes you look like a pansy?"

"Mmhmm." He nodded.

With a sigh, she lowered the hand holding the brush. "Roy, if it made you look like a pansy, why would we be putting it on you? Can I remind you that this magazine is aimed to appeal to young girls? In fact, I think I remember hearing Maes say that the reason this magazine started was because the editor overheard _you_ saying something about influencing all women to wear miniskirts, and liked the idea enough to organise something. So yes, this is aimed at young girls. Why would we put some hunk of a guy in this magazine just to make him look feminine, unless that was what women wanted?"

Roy fiddled with a stray thread poking out of his jeans. "I don't know . . . Do I look like a pansy with make-up on?"

"No," Maria replied sternly. Then, with a smile, "You look gorgeous, okay? Just . . . Maybe wash it _all_ off once you're done for the day. Just to be on the safe side," she added with a smile.

Nodding earnestly, he smiled back and allowed his face to be covered with her many cosmetics. All he had to do was wash it all off when the shoot was over, then that would be fine. What a relief! Now what did he have to work on?

Point number three: _Riza doesn't date guys who are prettier than she is._

* * *

The mirror sat there before him like a terrible reminder of what he was: two symmetrically slanted eyes, dark enough that for anyone to tell whether they're brown or blue – or just plain black – they'd have to be standing nose-to-nose with him; that nose – a straight little number with a slight flick up at the end; a mouth like two long petals resting together gently; and as a canvas for all of this, a round little blob of face, with a muss of black hair at the top. 

Even just describing himself, he couldn't deny that he was pretty. Of course maybe it wouldn't have sounded quite so good if he had gone with his first metaphor for his lips and said that they were like autumn leaves – he had discarded that one because it made them sound dry and scratchy, which he knew very well that they weren't.

So how was he going to be able to make himself less 'pretty'? There were a few things, really, but he wasn't so sure that he wanted to injure himself and get a scar, or a burn mark. Not on purpose anyway – if it happened by itself, without him causing it, that would really be an added bonus.

Maybe he could try the 'description theory'. If he used different expressions to think of his features, maybe they'd become less attractive because of that, and then maybe he'd be acceptable in her eyes. It just might happen that she preferred autumn-leaf-lips to petal-lips. He'd have to see tomorrow.

* * *

_Autumn-leaf-lips_, he thought as he walked into the studio the next day. _Small, piggy eyes . . . chubby cheeks._ This had better work, because the image these thoughts were giving him of himself was not pretty, and he didn't want to have to keep doing this. Or worse – have to go further and think of himself with an even uglier image. Roy shuddered. 

"Hi Riza," he said hopefully when he walked over to her.

She looked up from setting up the tripod, eyes fixing lightly on his face. Her lips parted softly – just watching that, he couldn't pretend that _she_ had autumn-leaf-lips – and she spoke. "What are you doing here? Should you be getting changed into your first outfit already? You don't even have make-up on yet! Go get ready – there's only two minutes before we're supposed to start shooting!"

He ducked his head and trudged off. Maybe next time.


	5. Finally Clearing the Hurdle

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, and I don't own MSA. I don't know whether or not there is an MSA Magazine, but if there is, I don't own that either.

**Snapshot Five: Finally Clearing the Hurdle**

Two weeks of watching Roy struggle through idea after idea amused Heymans. The model hadn't spoken to him directly about this 'issue' he was dealing with, but when he wandered past Heymans' workstation, the redhead could hear mutter after mutter. Every few days the theme of the mutters changed, and Heymans had an answer every time. Of course, he wasn't going to say it out loud – he didn't want to spoil the amusing sight of a model walking past trying to move beyond his own simple square.

"Think for yourself. Got to make your own decisions – tell the world out there that there's something behind that pretty face of yours, Roy, old boy. Show them just how smart you are, and they'll stand in awe of you," Roy was saying in the first three days.

The solution was simple. So simple, in fact, that it was a well known quote, although time may have changed the words. '_Better to sit in silence and be thought an idiot than to open your mouth and remove all doubt._' There was no fault in _seeming_ an idiot, just as long as you didn't take the time to prove everyone right. Heymans smirked.

"Less make-up. I don't want to look like some pansy boy who's dipped his face into Mummy's make-up drawers. I've got to be strong – that's what this is about. I'm a man, and I have to look the part. How much make-up do 'real' men wear? I'll have to ask Maes that one. But I have to tell the make-up artist. Fewer cosmetics. I'm a man," was the mantra for the few days after that.

This one was awkward, but with another answer that could solve it. As a model, there was no way that Roy could be in front of a camera without any make-up on – it just wasn't done. But as a man, there was always the option of washing it off as soon as he was finished with the shoot, instead of keeping it there. It was subtle make-up, to be sure, but it didn't add to his masculinity.

"Not as pretty? How can I change that? I can't get a scar . . . I can't get a tattoo . . . I can't burn myself" – this had caused a little surprise for Heymans, and he began to wonder if Roy Mustang was still a sane man – "but maybe I can get a haircut. An ugly haircut, so that– But then I might lose my job. Is it okay to lose my job, or is that another thing on the list? And how could I look at myself in the mirror if I had a bad haircut?"

All worry had dissolved back into amusement, and without even facing the muttering man, he grinned at his laptop screen. It wasn't hard to understand what was going on – everyone had heard about what Riza said when she turned him down that time. Heymans was amused that a year had passed, and Roy still seemed to be holding a torch for her. Finally trying to better himself. It was admirable, really.

"It's not making my own decisions, after all. That's not the real issue. What's the issue then? I need to be smart. I need to be intelligent. I need to show that I have something in my head. I need to stop wearing cosmetics. Can't I even have foundation and eye-liner? What's wrong with a little bit of those? No one else seems to mind. Too pretty . . . If I stop wearing make-up, maybe I won't look so 'pretty'. Maybe then everything'll sort itself out."

Shaking his head, Heymans had finally had enough of sitting back and watching the confused guy walk past day after day. "Roy, come here," he finally said when the model wandered by.

Roy gave him a confused look and made a beeline for the tech area. Heymans didn't think anyone had called him over to this section of the studio before – he looked as lost as a newborn puppy, but maybe that was also due to his forlorn expression.

"Maybe you should just buy her some flowers."

Roy's eyes widened. "How do you know about–?"

Heymans gave him a grin. "You walk past every day, talking about your inadequacies. What could it be other than a woman? And considering that not many women I know complain about guys being too pretty, I'm assuming that you're still thinking about Riza."

A sheepish grin crawled onto the taller man's face. "Yeah, I suppose. She's just so . . ."

With a brief wave of the hand, Heymans passed off the statement. "I know, man, she's pretty hot."

Roy's grin became wider and he nodded. After a moment, the grin began to slip and he started to frown. "But she's smart. She's too smart for me."

It was a fair consideration. Was there such thing as too big an intelligence gap between partners? Heymans knew for a fact that although he'd go out with almost any woman, the only ones he'd consider long-term relationships with would be those almost as smart as he was. Not smarter. He couldn't stand having someone pointing things out to him all the time.

"Look, all you need is a few basic skills for dealing with smart women," Heymans said. Even if he couldn't get Roy from what he was to what he needed (or wanted) to be, he could still pave the way for improvement. "First, be an active listener."

Roy gave him a look. A 'what the hell does that mean?' look.

"Meaning that when they're talking, nod along and repeat what they're saying, but in different words, and ask questions to make them talk more. Women like talking. Just make sure you keep the focus on her."

The look didn't budge.

Heymans let out a long breath. "Okay, let's see if I can give an example. Let's say that I'm Riza." Heymans didn't blame Roy for shuddering. "So maybe I'm talking about the last round of photos I took. For example: 'I managed to take this really amazing shot of you for the July issue.' Now, this is _not_ an opportunity to talk about yourself, even if she mentioned you. This is where you say 'Really? How did it turn out?' and ask something about the photo, or what _she_ thought."

There was a moment of silence, and the blank look on Roy's face didn't appear promising. "Why?"

Heymans sighed. "Because women love talking about themselves. If in doubt, ask what she thinks. _But,_ if she asks what _you_ think, you need to try to give some sort of answer."

Roy frowned again. "How do you know all of this? Do you have a girlfriend?"

This was one of those questions that Heymans didn't really appreciate. It wasn't that he'd never had a girlfriend – he'd had one or two – but more that Roy didn't trust him to know this of his own volition. Heymans liked to think of himself as a perceptive kind of guy.

"Not right now, but we'll see."

This time Roy watched for a moment before his eyes narrowed. "How do I know that you're not just setting me up to make an idiot of myself? I could look stupid, and then you could– Are you trying to get Riza?"

Heymans winced – that was a scary thought. He didn't think he'd like to try that. As hot as Riza may have been, he'd never say it to her face for fear that she might freeze him where he stood with one of her glares. "No, I think she's still pretty cut at me for knocking her into that fountain. She's . . . not my type, anyway." Attractive? Definitely. Intelligent? There was no doubt about it. Temper? Held on way too short a chain for him to even consider asking her out.

"Oh, okay. So . . . this advice is for real?"

"Yep, it's for real," Heymans told him with a chuckle. "Oh, and if all else fails, don't forget the flowers. Who knows – maybe Blondie is a real romantic at heart." No matter how many flowers he bought, a snowball would have a better chance in hell than Roy would with that woman.

A flash lit the room, signalling Maes' entrance, and with a quick "Thank you," Roy wandered off to get his make-up done, not remembering he was supposed to be trying to look more masculine these days. Sniffing, Heymans turned back to his laptop to make sure that everything was running as it should.

When all technical difficulties were sorted out, and everything was in place, he waited for Maes' indication that they were ready to begin. It didn't come as early as he expected, so Heymans got up to manually check that all of the equipment was set to the right standards, or close enough that Maes' fine-tuning would take only a second – the man insisted on personally checking that everything was perfect.

Minutes ticked away, and they still hadn't begun. Heymans scratched his head lazily, and, to Kain, wondered aloud what everyone was waiting for.

"Maes is complaining that Riza isn't here yet – today's her shift, and he's supposed to be off and doing something else as soon as everyone's ready," Kain disclosed, peeking at the set once again to make sure that everything was in place. That way, when Riza did finally arrive, Maes wouldn't be even more upset when they had to fix a few more props.

Finally, she strode in through the door, bag in the crook of her elbow, newspaper in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other. She flicked her fringe out of her eyes and ignored Maes' pointed glare.

"Sorry, I slept in," was the excuse. "Family reunion last night." She downed what must have been half of the cup of coffee, and set her stuff down, heading straight over to check the camera's focus. "Everyone ready?"

Maes left when everyone attested to their complete and utter preparation, muttering something about supervising articles and not having the time to call Elysia during his lunch break that day. Somehow, Heymans thought the bespectacled man would survive, if only just.

* * *

At the end of the day, Riza handed the film over to Kain and Heymans for developing. They weren't the ones who actually developed the images, but it was all the same to them. 

"So that must have been some happening party, then," Breda said by way of conversation.

"Party?"

"The family reunion?"

"Oh," she said – drinking another cup of coffee. "Yeah; me, two cousins, their wives, and our grandmother and grandfather. Totally rockin'," she answered sarcastically, pumping a fist for emphasis.

"Why'd it go so late?" Kain asked, looking up from tapping away at his laptop. Looking up didn't necessarily mean stopping typing – the tapping continued just as fast while he spoke.

"Mmm, it wasn't all that late . . . just exhausting. Mentally," she added for clarification. "And it was at my apartment, so the 'party' didn't really finish until I managed to kick everyone out, and clean up all the mess."

Heymans pulled a face. "You cleaned up right after? Couldn't you just leave the dishes 'til tonight? Only a few guests, so it couldn't have been that big of a job."

"No, my grandfather is coming over again tonight to 'discuss something important' with me," she groaned, putting a hand over her eyes.

Heymans waited for the woman to recover. He wasn't about to ask what was so important that her grandfather had to visit her the day after he had last seen her, and any man who did was stepping into a war zone–

"Something important? Do you know what that is?" Roy asked, coming up behind them.

She didn't even look up. "He wants me to get married."

Roy whistled. "Pressure, much? My mother's been telling me to get married for the past few years, too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Two of my sisters already are, and the other one is currently living on the other side of the world, so for now she only has me to pair off."

"Ugh, she's actually trying to pair you off? Grandfather only ever tells me to get married – he hasn't actually tried to pair me up with anyone yet."

"Oh, just you wait. It'll come eventually. In fact, if he's visiting just to talk about that, then it's more than likely he has a few suggestions."

Surprise written all over his face (in the thickest of permanent marker), Heymans didn't think he'd recover from this conversation. Could it be that after never carrying so much as a four sentence dialogue, Roy and Riza had finally clicked? Over family trying to get them married off?

Facing his laptop once again, Heymans lamented the amount of laughter down the drain. He had been looking forward to seeing Roy stumble through trying to start a relationship, but now all of a sudden it was working. He sighed, only turning around when he heard a particular line that he was _very_ interested in the response of. This might be good . . .

"So, do you want to go for coffee, or something?" Roy asked hopefully.

This time, instead of raising that frosty eyebrow, Riza put her head to one side, thoughtfully. "I can't tonight – meeting with my grandfather, remember? – but tomorrow I'm free."

Heymans sighed again. Roy had finally gotten through. It was a pity that Riza hadn't turned him down as spectacularly as before – that had made him laugh every time he thought about it since the event itself – but still, the guy had made it through his first major obstacle.

"Just remember to wash your make-up off beforehand. I don't want to be seen in public with you when you're still wearing foundation."

Only a few more obstacles to go, then.


	6. Women Bake the Best Pie

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA or the MSA. There's no MSA Magazine as far as I'm aware, but if there is I don't own it. I only own this version of it (for those who may be confused, yes the magazine is called 'Mini-Skirt Army Magazine' . . . it was Roy's idea :P). I also don't own any reality TV programme at all, so those mentioned in this are not my creation. Except the one they're making the whole advertisement for – only my cracked up brain could find some monster like that . . .

**Notes:** LOOK! I'M UPDATING THIS FIC! I came up with the idea today, wrote it, left the computer so that I could edit it later this evening, and my brother got on, so although I planned to have it ready for the last few hours of Australian Royai Day, it didn't quite work out. My brother got off the computer after twelve, and I became thoroughly distracted by a few friends on MSN - I was on it two times in the one 'day'! It's a record! So, this is three hours later than I wanted it to be (yes, it's 2:59am right now), but I'm determined to post it anyway. Please enjoy, and thank you for bearing with me!

**Snapshot Six: Women Bake the Best Pie**

It was early this morning. Very early – and yet Riza found it easy to keep her eyes open, mainly thanks to the steamy coffee warming her hands. With a smile to herself she walked into the office and set her bag down. Maes had been going on about their upcoming project for a while now, and his attitude was starting to have an effect on her too.

It was a first ever, at least for this group. An advertising company that had used MSA Magazine a few times before for their projects had taken note of the marked improvement in the quality of the magazine's photography. Usually they sent their own set pieces taken by their own crews to be put into the magazine, but rumour had it that one of their key photographers had been arrested for assault, and they'd had to look for other people to help them out.

Maes had received a phone call from the company asking if they could send someone over to observe the team at work, and a wary – or, knowing the man, perhaps delighted – Maes had said yes, setting one of the days in which they weren't going to be incredibly busy.

The man had come, sitting and observing quietly while they were all working, and during breaks asking every possible question there possibly could have been. He alternately spoke to Maes, Roy, Jean, Kain, and once approached Riza to ask how long she'd been involved in the magazine, and photography, and if she was interested in pursuing any other lines of work – to which she replied "over a year," "since Secondary school," and "not particularly – I'm quite happy where I am." The man had nodded, seeming to expect her answers, and moved off to talk with Maes once again.

Most of the office hadn't been sure what to think of the momentary invasion. They had compared stories afterwards, learning that he had asked a lot of them similar questions, and had been particular about asking Roy if he was sure he wouldn't want to work anywhere else. It had seemed a very fishy business to them all once they heard that he had asked most of them about at least one other member of the team, just to see what they thought of each other, it seemed.

All through their trying to get an idea of why the man had come – and arriving at the conclusion that he must have been trying to filch one of them across to the other advertising company – Maes had had a small smile on his face, as though he hadn't told them the whole story. Knowing him and his habit for a second, third and fourth agenda, Riza was sure that there was more to it.

She had been proved right two days later when Maes came into the studio with a smug grin and called everyone to listen to him before getting to work. He announced that they had all been asked to work with a television crew.

They stood in puzzled confusion, one or two voices mumbling a cautious "What?"

"The company is doing a commercial for a new reality TV show, and they've asked that we help them out. Our models" – he gestured to Roy and Jean – "will be doing the acting, and our photographers" – he gestured towards Riza and himself – "will be taking photos without flash during filming of the commercial to use in magazines for more advertising. The rest of the crew will be fulfilling their usual jobs, only altered slightly to cater for television."

There was a pause of surprise until people began talking again.

"Isn't it in our contracts that we work exclusively for MSA Magazine?" Heymans asked.

Maes nodded. "Yes, except when the magazine gives explicit permission. Considering that this in itself will be a minor advertisement for the magazine – after all, it's using our models and our crew, and I believe there's going to be a message about the magazine scrolling down the bottom of the screen for the duration of the commercial. Considering all of that, we already have permission to work on this piece."

And so it was set. They were going to work with an actual camera crew to give a shot at a whole different style of advertising. Roy and Jean began to talk about this being their big break into the film industry, forgetting the major gaps between commercial television and real television, let alone television and film. Riza could hear Maria asking someone about the difference between still-shot make-up and moving-film make-up. Maes grinned at the fuss he had created.

He had promised that he would let everyone know when the advertising company needed their help, and last night he had called around the different sections, saying that they had been told to come in the next day. Riza had rolled her eyes at the short-notice, but she was there at the studio early anyway to pick up her equipment.

Once she'd managed to find her cameras and their respective flashes – even if they had said they wanted photography without the flash she was sure they'd change their minds at some point – she stacked the boxes and grabbed her bag, taking them out to her car.

She was halfway through the trip to the other agency's studio when her phone rang. She answered while the traffic light was red, sitting the phone in her lap and putting it on speakerphone – breaking the law? Noooo, of course not.

"Hello?"

"Hi Riza," the other voice crackled, "it's Roy. My car's off getting fixed and I was going to have Maes pick me up, but he's already at the other studio. Is there any chance you could swing by and get me?"

"Alright. I'll be there in five or ten minutes."

Nine minutes later she pulled up outside his apartment building, and he trundled out the front door and hopped in, sleepy smile in place. She lifted one eyebrow. "Late night?"

He shook his head. "Early morning."

It was still an hour before they usually had to turn up at the office, so she nodded understandingly. She herself had made sure to get to bed earlier because of this, but she'd found out that Roy's bedtimes weren't quite as pre-midnight as her own. This had been highlighted by the fact that she fell asleep in the second movie of their movie marathon the other week, and he was still bright-eyed and awake when he woke her up at the end of the third one because they had to leave the cinema. It didn't help him when they had to get up early, though.

Seeing as they still had time before they needed to be at the office – a whole half-hour, because Riza liked to be prepared – they made a quick stop to pick up some coffee for Roy. He sipped at it slowly, savouring the heat.

Finding a parking space outside the company was difficult. The place had enough spaces for the people who usually worked there, and since there were only a handful of them absent that day, it was a matter of chance that there was one space left in the back corner when the two of them arrived. Riza counted herself lucky that most of their team wouldn't have turned up yet.

They walked into the building, Riza holding what was left of Roy's coffee while he carried her boxes for her. Riza asked a receptionist which room they were meant to go to. The woman eyed Roy appreciatively – his sleep-tousled hair and drooping eyes added a whole new element to his usually remarkable appearance – and gave them directions to a studio two floors up.

When they found the room, Maes appeared out of nowhere to welcome them and showed them where to put their gear, before disappearing. Riza gave Roy back his coffee and he gulped the rest of it down thankfully.

Maes reappeared a moment later and told them both to follow him. He pointed out to Roy where the change-rooms were, and introduced Riza to the camera crew of the set. They all seemed friendly enough, and the usual questions were traded – how long everyone had been in the profession, which major pieces they had worked on, and if the other was interested in the questioner's specialisation at all. Although they used different sorts of cameras to herself and Maes, Riza seemed to grasp more of their techie talk than she imagined she would. She found out which areas she'd need to steer clear of, and where she was and wasn't allowed to be. They gave her a basic idea of what the people they worked with acted like, and when she asked, they gave her a brief look at the differences between a photography camera and a film camera.

After the rest of their crew arrived and got shown to their momentary workstations, the obvious leader of this project turned up to give everyone a quick briefing of what they were going to do.

It turned out that in this project they were going to play on a lot of the more popular, or better known reality TV projects to make the advertisement for this new one – something about putting five homosexual people and five heterosexual people in a house on a remote island, and whichever of them was the last to make it through the singing contest would get the job. There was a voice-over which was going to be recorded in some other section of the building, so they didn't need to worry about that, only about getting the look right. As magazine workers, they knew all about getting the look right. Riza only hoped that Roy and Jean would do well as actors.

She spent ten minutes practicing with her camera. She knew how to take a good picture without flash, but preferred the light to get a good image. With a little bit of practice Riza was sure that she'd have found a way to get the image to turn out the way that she wanted it to. She reminded herself which settings gave different colours emphasis, and made sure she was on her preferential settings before the filming started.

When Roy and Jean came out she almost laughed. There was no way that the two looked related, and this just made it look even more obvious. The crew didn't seem to mind, though. She could see a few other grins, but the director appeared perfectly serious when he instructed Roy to sit down on the chair provided, in front of an entirely black set, and for Jean to pinch his cheeks "in a brotherly manner."

Roy's pout was priceless, but the director seemed to think it was perfect. He told Roy to cross his arms over his chest and to sink down in the chair, like he was sulking, and to keep his eyes on the dot on the floor while the camera panned around. Jean was grinning like the cat with the cream.

Riza knelt, a metre or two back from the dot Roy was supposed to be staring at, and when he saw her there his scowl only widened. She grinned cheekily and snapped two pictures in quick succession, and another with the settings slightly altered. She had a look at the digital image to make sure that it was what she wanted – although she wouldn't be able to tell properly until Kain had them up on his computer and blew them up a little.

To Roy's disdain, the director made the group go over the scene again. The man wanted both Roy and Jean to stay perfectly still as the camera moved, and Roy's scowl growing in the middle of the shot had ruined it completely, apparently.

Soon they were given a break to go and get changed. Jean came back out first, dressed in entirely normal clothing, if not a little classier than his usual ensemble. He moved onto a blue-screen set and the director explained briefly to him that when they had put in the required surroundings he would be standing in front of a crowd of people all bowing down to him. All Jean had to do was stand there and wave, confident smile in place.

When Jean was done he went back into the change-rooms, and Roy came out looking very confused. Riza had to stifle a laugh. The man was wearing a pair of soaking wet jeans, one leg ripped off just above the knee, and the other leg with a hole in it, although the rest was still attached somehow.

All that he wore were those jeans.

Riza could see that his gait was a little more uncomfortable than usual – the wet denim would have been chafing his pampered skin – and tried not to admire the glistening muscles. He'd been made up to look as though he'd just come through some tragedy. There were 'dirt-stains' over his toned belly, and a 'cut' along his shoulder. Riza heard the director mumble something to the computer-graphics team about adding some stubble to the finished project. Poor Roy was as stubble-free as a newborn baby.

A few props were brought onto the blue-screen set. They were just a few vine-looking things that were hung from hooks on the ceiling, and a few blue bumps placed on the ground. It was explained to Roy that he was supposed to stand back a bit, then walk over the blue bumps – which would be changed into mounds of dirt or tree-roots via computer graphics – and push aside the vines to look directly into the camera.

The first shot was executed perfectly, and the director looked a little stunned before saying "Good work! Now let's give it another try!"

When they had finished that one, Roy wandered over to get a quick drink of water and sat down on a chair, gulping at the drink. He didn't notice Riza wander over until he heard the camera click, and looked up guiltily. She quickly took another while his eyes still looked wide and wary.

He sighed, relaxing when he noticed she wasn't someone about to yell at him for slacking off. "This is more work than I expected," he admitted, taking another sip.

She took a step back and looked at him. He was used to this sort of thing, but without having to remain focussed on pretending for so long. It was the same thing, but . . . different.

With a smile she patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Go on. Get into your next outfit before Jean's done on this one."

Swallowing the last of his water, Roy nodded and stood up to walk away. Riza walked back towards the set, flicking around the light-absorption settings on her camera.

A little while later Jean finished, and went back into the change-rooms to get out of the groom's tuxedo he had been in. Apparently when they fixed it with the computer, there was going to be a giant Godzilla in a wedding dress behind him. For the filming he had been trying to run away from the creature. How they were going to manage Godzilla in a wedding dress, Riza didn't know, but she assumed that they knew they could manage it, otherwise they wouldn't have tried.

Roy came out without the 'dirty' make-up from before. He was taken around to a bedroom setting, where all he had to do was take off his jacket, throw it in a pile of other clothes on the floor, and put on another jacket. Riza got a photo of him with his arm halfway through the sleeve, his expression as though he was thinking of all of the troubles of the world. She smiled and waited for the next one.

Jean wore an ensemble Riza recognised as one from the new collection of a top designer. At first she didn't understand what they were doing when the director told the camera to zoom in on his eyes, but she watched in a small screen that showed what was being filmed at that moment, and saw as the camera panned from his left eye to his right that he was wearing a brown-coloured contact in his right eye alone. His left eye was still as blue as it had ever been.

Once that had been completed Jean was taken to a catwalk. Familiar with this section at least, it only took a few shots to get him to strut down the catwalk just the way the director wanted.

There was a short break when both Roy and Jean needed to get changed for the next one, and the director announced that everyone – including the exhausted models – could have a twenty minute break to have something to eat. Jean went outside for a smoke, and Roy disappeared into the bathroom.

One of the techies briefly told Riza that there was usually someone who went out to get sandwiches for everyone, but the couple who ran the shop were Jewish, and apparently they weren't open that day because of a religious holiday. Riza nodded in understanding and went to pack up her camera so she could head over to the shops and find something to eat for herself.

"Did you get any good shots?" Maes asked with a grin.

Riza rolled her eyes. "You never know until they're on the computer," she replied, casting her mind back to a few that she thought would turn out beautifully. She didn't want to jinx them by saying they'd turn out great, and then get upset when they were slightly blurred.

"True, true."

She felt a hand on her lower back and straightened up from the boxes she had been bent over. Roy smiled at her, looking a lot more comfortable in his own clothes. "Do you two want to head to the shops over the road? There might be somewhere to eat there."

They both nodded and all headed for the door, wallets in hand.

On the way out Riza heard the director growling at one of his crew. "What do you mean '_Natasha's not here_'? She has to be here! Call her agency, and tell them that if she's not here in the next fifteen minutes she'll have to find somewhere else to get her break. Have them send over someone as soon as humanly possible."

One amazing salad sandwich later, Riza thought she had found the best sandwich shop in the whole city. She, Roy and Maes headed back to the studio, all three peacefully quiet now that their stomachs weren't complaining at them anymore. Roy rushed in to the change-rooms to get into the next outfit, only just beaten through the door by Jean.

The two of them emerged a little later, Roy dressed in a swanky suit and Jean in a somewhat worse-for-wear outfit, holding what looked like a gun.

"Now that's just a fake gun, but I don't want you to pull the trigger anyway," the director said. "There's no way of assuring that nothing will happen."

The scene proceeded to make it look as though Jean was mugging Roy, and Roy had to stand up against a brick wall, expression appearing terrified as he systematically handed over 'his' wallet, mobile phone, watch and wedding-ring. Jean then turned and ran off the set, and Roy slid down the wall, face looking absolutely ashen. Riza was shaken for a moment before she remembered that he was acting. Even though she knew the 'mugging' was an act, his expression had looked so absolutely hopeless that she almost thought Roy had forgotten.

The costume people approached Roy once the scene had been acted through four or five times, and only swapped his tie and his blazer.

Riza became aware of the director once again. His tirade was hard to ignore as the volume of his voice became louder and his language became cruder, now cursing at what Riza assumed was Natasha's agency.

"In that case," the man finally spat out, running his eyes over the room, "you." He pointed at Riza, who froze like a deer caught in someone's headlight. "Go get changed. You're going to be in the next one."

She straightened to her full-height and raised her eyebrows. She might not have been that tall, but at least she could usually manage to stare down the guys at their office. "I stay behind the camera – I don't go in front of it."

He snorted. "You do now. We're missing a woman for the next scene, and you're going to be it."

Somehow, after four minutes of strong debate there in front of the whole crew, her "no" turned into a reluctant "okay". She didn't know exactly how it happened, but by the time he was glaring stonily at her and growling, she couldn't hold out any more. She was given a red dress to change into, and her hair and make-up were fixed over. Although the guys' hair wouldn't take as much time, because it wasn't as long, she now understood why it took forever for Roy and Jean to make costume-changes.

Finally, she was ejected from the make-up room, looking altogether normal for the amount of make-up they had put on her face. She had no idea of what they had done to her, but Roy gave a grin when he saw her.

"Now," the director told the both of them. "I want you to stand on the mark here – no, closer to each other. Roy, put your arms around her waist, and . . . what's your name?"

"Riza."

"Riza, put your hands up on his chest."

Feeling a little awkward – and closer than they usually were, since his arms held her tightly against him – she slid her hands up onto Roy's chest, just beside the lapels of his blazer. She glanced up and saw him smirking happily at her. The director's voice sounded in the background, as he seemed to talk to himself.

"Something's missing. What it is?" He snapped his fingers, and spoke louder. "Props, where's the rose?"

Someone from the props department scurried forwards, a red rose in their hands. Roy took one of his hands away from Riza's waist and had the other rest on her hip as he took the rose. There were two thorns left on it, at the very top and bottom of the long stem, but the rest had been stripped off of it.

The director spoke up again. "Roy, put the stem in your mouth, the bud facing towards the camera, and then get back in the position you were a minute ago. We'll pan around you quickly, and then that's it for this one."

Riza tried not to flush as red as the rose while the camera circled around them. She was certain that she could hear one or two members of their crew laughing at her right now, but was unable to turn her head and look or otherwise they'd have to have another take.

Three long minutes later, she was told that she'd be needed for one more section, and before she was able to be bundled off for it, she asked what it was. Just a simple little question.

It must have been that little question that saved her, because if she had gone through with that scene it would have been the very end of her life. Entirely dead. There would be no way she could show her face in public again.

From the way that the director explained it, the image he had in his head was of Roy standing in the centre of the screen, legs shoulder-width apart, and arms spread out full-length. Riza was supposed to be standing behind him with her arms wrapped around him, wearing some sort of skin-coloured, strategically shaped underwear so that the leg, hip and arms she was showing were completely bare.

She stopped and gritted her teeth. "No."

The man's face darkened, and he leant forwards to begin his tirade at her again. Riza allowed him to yell for a whole five minutes, telling her that she needed to get into that change-room and change her clothing. The smile that appeared on her face was not what he expected. He stopped and leant back, assuming that he had somehow made his point.

Riza spoke calmly and evenly. "Yes. I'm going to go into that room and get changed – back into my own clothes." He opened his mouth to interrupt, but she ploughed right on. "It is _not_ my job to stand in front of that camera and do whatever you want me to do. I'm especially not going to do it appearing to be in the nude, even if I am wearing some skimpy little scrap of clothing. Now, you're going to stop trying to force me to do this, or otherwise you'll find that that 'outfit' legally entitles me to sue you for sexual harassment."

"It says in every model's contract that–"

"It seems," _she_ interrupted, this time, "that you've forgotten that I neither _am_ a model, nor do I work for your company. Good-day."

She spun around and walked back into the change-rooms, where she changed out of the dress and into her own clothes. She cast a glance into the mirror and reasoned that she could wash the make-up off when she got home. Trying to do it here could be a disaster, depending on how long-lasting and waterproof the make-up was.

When she returned back into the studio, she found Maes waiting by her gear. He wore a gigantic grin on his face, and was clapping loudly. "Bravo, Miss Hawkeye," he told her with a respectful nod in her direction.

She breathed out a sigh of relief. The tension had built up in her muscles and she'd need to relax before she drove home – that was, if she didn't want to have an accident.

"A very good job done there," he added, helping her to put away her camera properly. She had only had the time to set it down with the boxes when she had to go and get changed. "At first I had thought that you had finally met your match – a man who was able to make _you_ back down on something. But no, the scales have been pulled from my eyes – even Riza Hawkeye can stand back up after eating humble pie, and dish it right back out."

She smiled wearily as Roy came over towards her with an amused smile, but turned towards Maes. "Men just can't make pie as well as women do. You should know that, Maes."

* * *

_I don't own (in order) Big Brother, Amestrian Idol, Survivor, Bridezillas, What Not To Wear, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, Amestris' Next Top Model, Survival of the Richest, The Bachelor, and last and almost definitely least, My Bare Lady._

_I also don't like any of the listed shows, and constantly laugh at the commercials I see for them :D The only one I think has a good result is Idol, because it gives people with talent the chance to show it. Unfortunately, the judging and voting systems are terrible._


	7. Soldiertron: Matchmaker Extraordinaire

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, and I don't own the MSA. If there's an MSA Magazine out there somewhere, I don't own that either!

**Notes:** Wow. It's been ten and a half months since I last updated this story. I just haven't been writing much recently, but I think anyone who's seen me around would notice that. I'm trying to get back into the habit of writing daily (for the past few months I've been writing a list of things to do each day, and ticking them off as I do them, trying to get at least half done each day), and for the past three days it's been working. I either write, or I plan chapters.

Anyway, besides my writing schedule, I do have more to say in these notes. This chapter is the very last in the Photography series. It's been a short one, and not much worked on, but it's always been another open series I have to think about how to update. So since I'm planning on trying to get back to Theme and Variations (there's no telling when I'll get to that, though), I thought I may as well finish up this one. I'd like to thank everyone who has favourited, watched, or reviewed this story – you guys are made of awesome – and hopefully I'll still see you around here, somewhere! So here's the final chapter of my Photography AU:

**Snapshot Seven: Soldiertron: Matchmaker Extraordinaire!**

Even as a child, Maes was a social person. He had his moments when he put his head to the grindstone and worked hard, but he couldn't go a week without hanging out with his friends. School didn't count in a young man's mind.

They'd go watch movies, muck around at the shopping centre, waste pocket money on pointless junk, and ride their bikes around the park. Or, alternatively, they'd try their first cigarettes, sneak alcohol out of their parents' fridges, and drive around late at night – all depending on the company and what their idea of 'cool' was at the time.

Now he was thirty and had a beautiful wife and wonderful daughter, but that didn't change a thing. They were his home life – and a fantastic one it was, too – but he got to see them often enough. So long as he was there to tuck in his daughter most nights, he could miss one or two a month to hang out with his friends, right?

Wrong. He'd rush home, and sweep the little girl up so he could place her in her bed himself. Maes liked hanging out with his friends, but his little princess always came first.

For Roy, however, it was a completely different story. Bachelor, childless, and single (well, technically), Roy had no family to come home to at his apartment, so he made up for that by being with friends. Every now and then he liked to have some time to relax and have a day for himself, but sure enough, most weekends and days off could find him in the company of someone else.

This particular day off, that 'someone else' wasn't in the most agreeable of moods.

"Look, either pick a movie or we're going to do something else," Riza said impatiently. "And '_Transformers: Introducing Weapontron and Kate_' is _not_ an option."

Roy wilted just a little at the edge in the tone of her voice. His hand retracted from the shining cover of the DVD. It had been calling to him from the moment he had entered the store. Instead, he tucked the title away in his memory for the next time Maes was free for an afternoon.

"Well, I'm not watching anything with subtitles unless it has an inordinate amount of blood and fighting in it!" he retaliated, waving his hand at the French film she held. Roy had been trying to boost his vocabulary recently, and 'inordinate' was his word of the day. He was very proud of himself to find an appropriate place to use it.

One of the other customers in the video store gave the pair a covert glance and moved around them. Roy closed his mouth and made a mental note to keep the volume down.

Riza seemed to have received the message as well, because when she spoke again it was in hushed tones. "I like action. I just like it to have a storyline. Pointless or overdone killing gets boring when it doesn't lead up to anything."

"What do you mean action with a storyline?" Roy asked. "Does that even exist?"

"Of course it does," scoffed Riza. Her eyes scanned the covers of the movies in front of them. "There's '_The Shadow of Space_', '_Ghost Ship: A Horror-ble Love Story_' . . . They really should have subtitled that 'A Romantic Horror Story' if they didn't want people to think it was a comedy."

At the same time Riza had made her comment on the subtitle Roy groaned, "Not some sappy chick-flick, please."

Riza frowned. "Sappy? It's about a giant ship overrun by haunting spectres wanting to kill anyone who comes near."

With a jab, Roy pointed at the three separate descriptions on the side of the cover. "Look, here it says 'talking about feelings'. That is _not_ the sort of horror movie I like."

Riza rubbed at her temple and sighed. "Okay. Pick something. Anything except that Transformers movie. No matter what it is we'll get that and go."

A smirk crawled onto Roy's face. "Anything?"

"No porn, excessive horror themes, zombies or supernatural themes," she ticked off on her fingers.

Roy pouted. He thought she might have forgotten about those restrictions. Porn was a basic no-no (even Roy knew that), but the other three categories, while apparently alright in moderation, left Riza feeling too out-of-control of the situation to be comfortable. He was just curious, that was all . . .

In any case, Roy wandered off, searching the aisles. Anything, eh? Did that include those bloody ninja movies he saw on the way in? He could stand those subtitles – there'd only be a few lines in between fights anyway. Maybe even some English if he picked the right one.

Pushing aside a misplaced Horror/Mystery movie titled '_The Hotdog Man_' (the look in the man's eyes sent chills down Roy's spine), Roy picked up a copy of '_Car-tyre Terrain_', a movie apparently about three nerds drafted into the army, who used their superior intellect to create various gadgets they could control remotely, thus removing the need for their presence at the front lines.

He was still looking at the blurb when he turned to find Riza and-

"Oof!"

Roy's head shot up to see who he'd just walked into. "Ah, sorry. I didn't mean- . . . Kain?"

Kain Feury blinked in surprise back at him. Roy must have been the last person Kain expected to see here. Roy certainly hadn't expected the young IT man from the magazine.

"Roy! What are you doing here?" See? He _hadn't_ expected him. "There must be five video stores closer to your home than this one!" Kain said, a polite smile beginning on his face.

"He's here with me."

Roy stepped around to see Riza joining them, wearing a smile to mirror Kain's, and holding a DVD case of her own.

"Hello, Riza."

"Hi Kain. Looking for a movie?" she asked brightly, as though she didn't know the answer to that already.

Roy plucked the case from her hand, and snorted at the title '_Stuntwoman_' splayed over the top. Some superhero name that was. Probably an accurate reflection of the quality of the film.

"I've found one for us," he said and handed her the case of '_Car-tyre Terrain_'.

Kain's eyes lit up at the sight of the movie. "I've seen that one. It does a good job of explaining the mechanics of the robots. I was tempted to give it a try myself, afterwards. This time I'm getting the new Transformers movie, though. I've been waiting for it for weeks."

Roy rolled his eyes. "I wanted to get that, but _she_ wouldn't let me."

"Well, if you want to spend your afternoon with Kain instead . . ." Crossing her arms, Riza looked up at Roy with a raised eyebrow.

Roy grunted – he didn't say that. She was just making up things.

"J-just as well," Kain said, his smile having slipped to a more awkward, wide-eyed, and apologetic look. "I have guests coming over later, and I think my apartment will be holding the most people it can by then." He paused, eyes flickering between the two of them, and then said, "I should really be off. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"Strange kid," Roy muttered, as Kain shuffled off.

Riza nodded in agreement and turned to head to the front desk, now looking at the case of '_Car-tyre Terrain_'. "He's alright, though."

The DVD Riza had chosen was subtly left on the shelf next to '_The Hotdog Man_', and Roy put his now-free hands in his pockets to follow after Riza. She could be a little intimidating from time to time, but Roy was sure that once he got used to it, it would be no great problem.

It turned out that the movie was incredibly boring. Roy could see why Kain liked it – robots and the like would have been heaven for a computer-geek like him – but the technology took a higher place in the story than the killing did, and apparently the plot wasn't good enough to draw even Riza in. It was so incredibly boring, in fact, that she didn't complain when Roy put his arm around her. Instead, she twisted around to put her feet up on the lounge, and settled back against him, playing with his fingers.

Roy was so surprised that he stopped watching the movie completely. Did she not know what she was doing, or was this a different Riza to the one he was used to?

"You have nice fingers, you know," she told him. "Long. Not like the last guy I went out with. His were all short and stumpy. Couldn't play an octave if his life depended on it."

There was a moment in which the only sounds were those of bombs exploding, guns firing, and a character in the movie shouting out, "We need you out there! You nerds are so skinny their bullets fly right past you!" followed by another calling back "You don't need me – you have Soldiertron to fight alongside you!"

Finally, Roy nudged Riza with his shoulder. "Does that mean we're making this official?"

She turned her head, fingers entwined in his, on her knee. "We could."

"So you're going to be my girlfriend?" he asked.

A pleased grin emerged on Riza's face. "Looks like it." She twisted and planted a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Aren't you glad you didn't go and hang out with Kain, instead?"

Roy laughed. "It was never really an option."

* * *

_I don't own any of these songs:_

_When You're A Transformer ; Shadow of Space ; Ghostship ; The Hotdog Man ; Too Skinny For The Army ; Stuntman._

_All of those wonderful pieces belong to the Australian comedy trio known as Tripod. If you don't know about them, Youtube them. They're made of awesome. My favourite song of theirs is 'Kempt'._

_So, with that, this story is at its end. Thank you for your support. Au revoir!_


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